


Agony's Sweet Embrace

by kiwaqueen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Injury, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwaqueen/pseuds/kiwaqueen
Summary: Agony— such word inflicts a negative disposition upon being heard. For Miriel, however, agony is not only a curse, but also a blessing. After all, it was what brought him and his beloved Farkas together...
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero
Kudos: 5





	Agony's Sweet Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> greetings, earthlings. this is my first work posted online, as well as my first skyrim fanfic. big thanks to my dearest friends and lovely partner for the feedback, proof-reading, and basically keeping up with my... raging fangirl moments. i don't have a fixed update schedule, but i update usually when i want to. i will add more tags in the future. anyhow, feedback is much appreciated!

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? It sure felt like years instead of hours. He had been incapacitated like that for a while. He crawled through the lands surrounding the Reach, only made more difficult by his heavy steel plated armor that shone under the soft moonlight. What was worse than that was the damage to his ego as he dragged himself against the dirt in his continued crawl, with his legs rendered completely useless, and his ankles being gripped tightly by an unknown force. He certainly couldn't imagine himself to be in such a pitiful state; he was strong, swift, cunning, and the Harbinger of the Companions to boot. He cursed under his bated breath and continued to painstakingly pull himself along with his arms. He could feel his strength was slowly fading away, as the grip on his ankles only worsened.

"Fuck. I'm a damned Altmer, and I succumbed to a random mage's spell! I'm the goddamned Harbinger, for crying out loud!" he shouted. Unfortunately for him, someone heard his shouts and curses.

Farkas and some of the Companions were doing their rounds, hunting down the beasts of Skyrim. He was about to leave with the rest after readjusting his armor, but something caught Farkas' attention. He knew he wasn't imagining things when he heard a familiar voice from a distance. He stopped on his tracks for a moment, and heard the same voice once more. It was the voice of the man that purified him of his beast blood, the man that granted Kodlak Whitemane's last wish, the man that he'd admired ever since he walked in the halls of Jorrvaskr. He found himself sprinting towards the voice of the person he so admired. His heart pounded with joy and excitement which soon dropped when headd the Harbinger clearly in pain. He ran as fast as his sculpted calves could go, growing worried of the Altmer being in any kind of danger.

"By the Divines, that HURTS LIKE HELL!!!" The Altmer shouted; he had a high tolerance for pain, but the tight grip on his ankles just grew stronger and stronger, feeling even enough to break his bones. He hissed at the pain, tears welling in his eyes. He didn't know what to do in this situation. He tried different kinds of Restoration spells, drank various healing potions; it didn't work. He was pissed at himself for not knowing what the spell was, as well. He was an Altmer, he was born with the gift of learning and wielding magic. What's more, he was also Neloth Telvanni's apprentice— after he had earned Neloth's respect who named the Altmer an official member of House Telvanni. Well, sort of. Though he might've been a true warrior at heart, dabbling in different schools of magic gave him an edge in countless battles.

He hoisted himself up and slowly sat on the ground. He couldn't move his ankles at all or the grip would tighten; when he exerted force on it, it felt like stepping on a floor with millions of needles. He did his best to take off his boots, but it costed him great pain. Cursing under his breath, an idea popped in his mind.

"Let's see if this works, then..." He whipped out a paralysis poison and coated his skyforge steel dagger with it. He never really used the dagger in combat, but he kept it with him since it was a gift from Eorlund when he became a member of the Companions. He then proceeded to cut the skin of his ankles, after a while, he felt the numbing and paralysis spread up to his knees.

The grasses crumpled under Farkas' steps, who was panting heavily from sprinting. He could see the glint of the Altmer's armor in the distance and not much long later, Farkas' knees gave out as he neared the Altmer's back.

"Miriel...? What... are you doing... out here...?" Farkas gasped for air. He had a lot of stamina and endurance, clearly it was put to good use this time around.

The high elf gasped in shock, clearly not expecting Farkas behind him.

"Farkas! What brings you here?" he asked, turning around to see Farkas' face glistening with sweat, his messy jet black hair sticking to the sides of his face, and the warpaint on his eyes smearing.

"Just the usual rounds... Wait, you didn't answer my question." he said as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his arm.

"I was uh... Traveling...? And um, well... Killing dragons and eating their souls...?" Miriel replied, stammering. He was positive no one was going to his rescue, but he thought wrong. It was even more delightful since it was Farkas.

Farkas' brows furrowed as he saw Miriel's boots on the ground, his exposed feet, some cuts on his ankles, a small poison bottle in his left hand and a steel dagger on his right; he needs answers now.

"Does traveling require you to take off your boots?" Farkas' voice was stern, but he only did it to hide his evergrowing worry about the Altmer.

"Not exactly, no... I just... Found myself in a rather complicated situation." Miriel sighed in exasperation, he was on the verge of passing out due to exhaustion.

"Just tell it to me straight, Miriel."

"Okay, fine... I was exploring these parts in the Reach, and came across a seemingly mad wizard... The woman put up a good fight, and then she caught me off guard and cast a spell on me." he sounded defeated, and Farkas could hear the bitterness in the elf's voice. Miriel was always egotistical, however, despite that, he backed it up with his skills in both combat and strategy. Not to mention that he loved reading books and learning; whenever Farkas would see Vilkas and Miriel talk and exchange books, he always felt a small pang of jealousy like a slap in the face.

"And? I assume that you killed her?" Farkas inquired, as he took a seat on the green grass and hard earth beside Miriel. His silver gaze locked with Miriel's emerald eyes; those eyes really captured Farkas' heart. They were simply beautiful. Miriel nodded in response and handed Farkas a stamina potion. The Nord refused, but Miriel insisted.

"Please, you found me and sprinted all the way here, it's the least I could offfer you." he chuckled. Farkas, not wanting to be rude, took the potion and chugged it. It was bitter, perhaps it was due to the ingredients used. Miriel didn't have the leisure of buying luxurious ingredients, although he still had plans. He'd grown tired of downing bitter or foul-tasting yet effective potions.

"Yes, that woman met my rage... pushed her off the cliff with a dragon shout. I was on my way to Rorikstead, but well... After a few hours, I realized that the spell she cast on me was... taking effect. It wasn't that bad for the first few hours of walking and jogging, but the pain grew more and more until I had to force myself on the ground and crawl." Miriel's words trailed off as he stared into the beautiful night sky— Masser and Secunda in full view, the stars twinkling, and the borealis glowing vibrant hues of teal and aqua.

"What kind of spell was it? I'm not familiar with... magic." Farkas said, and Miriel shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Even with my extensive knowledge and Master Neloth's questionable teachings, I'm ashamed o say that I don't know what spell it is. Nor the school of magic the spell possibly belongs to." the elf sighed yet again, for what seemed like the fiftieth time. He still needed to go to Rorikstead; to check on Erik and get some rest for a day.

"The cuts on your ankles, why did you-" Farkas was abruptly cut off by the Altmer.

"Paralysis. You see, the spell makes me crippled. I endured the pain for a while, until I couldn't. I was thinking of crawling all the way to Rorikstead, but I'd probably pass out before I can even manage that."

Strange, Farkas thought. He felt like he needed more details, but judging from the way Miriel cut him off, he probably didn't want to dwell on the subject much longer.

Hisses and groans escaped the elf's mouth— the pain wasn't completely gone, and for sure his paralysis poison would fade by the next morning. Farkas was truly worried about the wellbeing of their Harbinger. That's when it all clicked. However, he needed to confirm if his understanding of the situation was correct.

"Let me get this straight. You were walking aimlessly in these parts of Skyrim, came across a mad mage woman, and you got hit by one of her spells that makes you crippled?" the Nord said, placing a hand on his chin as if he was mimicking Vilkas when deep in thought. The elf nodded as he exhaled.

"I still need to get to Rorikstead, some unfinished business. Damn, this spell really stirred my plans for the week..." Miriel sighed and laid on the grassy land. Different kinds of thoughts invaded his head; what was going to happen next? When will the spell wear off completely? How was he going to reach Rorikstead in this condition? Will he able to overcome-

"Want me to carry you on my back?" Farkas blurted. Even he was surprised at his straightforwardness. Miriel's thoughts were abruptly silenced in his head, as he was dumbstruck by what Farkas just suggested. However, all things considered, there was no other way to reach Rorikstead.

"A-are you sure, Farkas? Surely, I don't want to burden you with my problems-"

"Miriel." Farkas said softly.

"This is m-mine to fix too, and-"

"Enough! I offered and just... tell me if you don't want to." the Nord interjected. Miriel was taken aback at the sudden shift of Farkas' voice. The elf's eyes met with Farkas' silver eyes; anyone could tell that the Nord was quite serious. With a shallow chuckle, Miriel accepted Farkas' offer.

"With that unmatched passion of yours to help me, it's hard to refuse. You have my gratitude, Farkas." Miriel flashed a warm smile towards Farkas, and it made the Nord's heart skip a beat.

Miriel put his dagger and poison away in his pockets and carefully hoisted himself up, groaning at the gripping pain that he could still feel. Farkas kneeled with his back facing Miriel, and the elf wrapped his arms around Farkas' neck as the Nord reached for Miriel's thighs. Farkas lifted Miriel up by the legs, firmly gripping onto his armor, and slowly standing up with the elf on his back. It was no surprise that Farkas carried the incapacitated man with ease; the man was a trained warrior and had a muscular build, perhaps even more so than his twin. The Altmer's face nestled beside Farkas' right ear, and his nose was pierced by a strong smell of what seemed like dried blood.

"By the divines, Farkas. You smell foul. What on Nirn did you kill during your hunt just a few minutes ago!?"

"Sabre cats. There were a few, alright? I'll take a shower as soon as I can." they both chuckled.

"Reminds me, who you were with today?" Miriel inquired, worried that Farkas might've made the other Companions concerned for his sudden disappearance.

"Ria, Torvar and Aela."

"Where was Vilkas?" The Nord frowned upon hearing his twin's name rolling from the Altmer's tongue.

"Said he wanted to read the books you gave him. Knowing him, he probably already finished them."

"That's Vilkas for you; always finding spare time to read books. " Miriel said musingly. Farkas then leaned down to pick up Miriel's steel boots.

"Ah, don't worry about that! I have another pair back in Jorrvaskr." he exclaimed. The Altmer always had a knack to make an extra pair of armor whenever he smithed, and he certainly did make tons of armor with different materials. Farkas remembered seeing a wardrobe full of leather and banded iron armors, which he had to ask the Altmer to put them away somewhere else or sell it to Eorlund or Adrianne.

"Have you been crowding the closets with your armor again?" Farkas asked, as he started walking the path towards Rorikstead.

"I... can't remember. If you need one from one of those closets, tell me. I'll improve the fit for you." the elf offfered, who sounded confident and proud. Farkas let out a hearty laugh and declined the offer.

"Maybe another day. Besides, I wouldn't want you to spend an entire day of smithing different kinds of armors just for me."

"It's my pride and joy, mind you! Along with studying the craft of alchemy. I've long mastered the arcane arts, so I'm moving on to different hobbies." he pouted, then smiled sheepishly. Miriel could feel a blush creeping up to his golden cheeks; he didn't want to admit it, but Farkas made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Well, it wasn't always like that from the start. After slowly seeing Farkas' personality when they had jobs together, Miriel started to develop feelings towards the Nord. However, he didn't want pursue them; he knew he brought disaster to the people he loved and cherished. He didn't want another repeat of his terrible past.

Silence grew between them, but it was comfortable. The Altmer's eyes grew heavier, and before he knew it, he fell asleep while Farkas was carrying him. Farkas bid him a good night softly, and continued to walk doown the weathered stone path leading to Rorikstead. The Nord was quite glad that they were no skeevers, wolves or filthy bandits that wandered nearby, he wouldn't want to wake the sleeping beauty, resting on his back.

Farkas was in cloud nine; he finally got to see his precious Harbinger again after what seemed like months. Miriel was mostly away for jobs given to the Companions, not to mention his duties as the Dragonborn already kept him busy enough. Alduin may have been vanquished from existence, however, some dragons still rebelled from the Dragonborn's established dominance and would occasionally wreak havoc in the holds. The Nord continued silently on his merry way, eventually making it to the quaint little town of Rorikstead. He swung the door of Frostfruit Inn open, trying his best not to disturb the high elf. Thank the Divines the place was quieter than the tavern in Whiterun; the bard and the other patrons were asleep in their own quarters within the inn. It was already pretty late, so it made sense, although Farkas didn't exactly know what time it was. Mralki, the innkeeper, was kind enough to assist Farkas lay Miriel down on the bed of the available room. The Nord offered Mralki a pouch of gold for the room and ordered some food for him and Miriel, in case he would wake up.

"Is he alright?" the innkeeper inquired, Farkas replied with a nod. "That's good to hear. It was just a strange sight to see— a Nord carrying a barefooted Altmer. Anyway, let me know if you need anything." Mralki continued before leaving the room to cook the food Farkas asked for. Farkas sat on the floor and leaned on the wooden bedframe, heaving an exasperated sigh. Sure, he had no problems carrying Miriel, but the weight of his steel plated armor made him heavier to carry. Farkas is a strong man, but like any other man, he has limits and weaknesses... like frostbite spiders. As the Nord felt his eyelids slowly flutter to a close, he heard footsteps coming into the room. Farkas' head turned to see who it was; a fellow Nord, dressed in banded iron armor, his strawberry blonde locks and braids slicked back and his piercing crystal blue eyes inspected the fibers of Farkas' being. He was holding a platter that had a couple pieces of bread, two bowls of warm, hearty vegetable soup, a venison chop, two tankards, a jug filled with water and a few bottles of Honningbrew Mead; the timing couldn't have been any better, much to Farkas' delight. The gentleman set the platter down on their table, shot Farkas a small smile and quietly walked out. Farkas got up from the floor and sat on the chair stationed nearest to Miriel, finally satisfying his hunger and thirst. As he was wolfing down the soup and bread, he was thinking of what he should do about the high elf's armor and wounds. He surely didn't want to wake Miriel up, however, sleeping in armor made from hard but enduring materials were bound to give the wearer discomfort the next time they wake. Farkas approached Mralki and asked for a bowl with clean water and a clean rag.

"Here," the innkeeper handed him the bowl and rag. "Make sure you get some rest too." Mralki continued as Farkas thanked him. He grabbed the things and retreated back to the room they rented.

The high elf was muttering something in his sleep; although his voice was soft, Farkas was able to hear and piece together what he was trying to say. Something about a mistake, he thought. Whatever it really is, perhaps the Nord will never know. Farkas sunk back into the chair as he soaked the rag in the water. Miriel's strange babbling seemed to have stopped, and Farkas took this as an opportunity to take off the Altmer's armor.

The Nord tried to gingerly take off Miriel's armor; he first started with the elf's gauntlets and chestplate. Underneath all that armor was a muscular frame, covered by a plain, white tunic. The steel plated armor made Miriel look wider, but his armor had a perfect and comfortable fit that hugged Miriel's curves and muscles. He didn't just look wide, he really was wide. He was dreading to take off Miriel's steel plated pants, but he had to for the sake of the high elf's hygiene. Farkas' hands were trembling, but he managed to take off the armor, revealing Miriel's glorious thighs and calves, covered with a pair of brown trousers, which Miriel seemingly cut off around the knees. He neatly piled the elf's armor onto another chair, grabbed the rag, and squeezed the excess water, turning back to face the elf. Seeing Miriel dressed like an average citizen made Farkas feel that Miriel was just like any other elf, underneath all that sass, bravado and armor. Miriel never looked this peaceful, and Farkas was surely tempted to kiss those beautiful lips. The Nord finally crashed back into reality and went back to his task at hand— cleaning Miriel's arms, face and legs.

_I told you, time and time again; stop wasting my time! You filthy fetcher! I trusted you, Miriel! What I thought was we had something, only to find out that I was just... being taken advantage of!_

...no, that's not... true...

_Really now!? Well then, why don't you tell me the reason for keeping me at your side, eh? Spit out your poor excuses!_

...you're making... a mistake... please...

_I shouldn't have offered my services if I knew this was going to happen. Daedra take you, Miriel. Goodbye._

...no, wait!


End file.
